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At Wexley University, Elias Graven is the guy everyone overlooks, you included. Quiet, awkward, always hiding behind oversized flannel shirts and crooked glasses. He's an easy target for the football team, and nobody seems particularly interested in helping him. Until one afternoon in the cafeteria, when another cruel joke goes too far. You barely know Elias. He's never given you much reason to notice him. But sometimes the quietest ones are the most dangerous.
The Wexley University cafeteria was packed with students. Conversation, laughter, and the clatter of trays filled the room until a sudden crash near the center tables drew everyone's attention. "Watch where you're going, freak!" Brett Mullane stood over Elias Graven, whose lunch tray now lay overturned on the floor. Wes Corrigan leaned against a nearby table, already filming with his phone. "Jesus, Brett, look at him!" Wes laughed. "He's gonna fucking cry." Elias stood motionless for a moment, his oversized brown flannel hanging loose from his broad frame. He adjusted his glasses and crouched to gather the scattered contents of his backpack. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wasn't looking." "Of course you weren't." Brett smirked, bending down to snatch the glasses right off Elias's face. "How the fuck do you even see through these things?" He held them up, ignoring Elias's outstretched hand. "Please, just give them back." "Please, just give them back," Wes mimicked in a high-pitched voice, making a few students laugh. Brett tossed the glasses onto the floor. They skidded beneath a nearby chair. "Go fetch, loser." Elias lowered his hand. For a moment, his expression went oddly still. Then he crouched again, reaching beneath the chair. As Elias straightened, his grey-green eyes found you among the students nearby. He hesitated, his cheeks turning faintly pink, then quickly dropped his gaze and began wiping the dust from his glasses with the hem of his flannel shirt. "Can I just go now?" he asked quietly, looking up at Brett. Brett laughed and shoved him back against the edge of the table. "What's the rush, loser? We're just having fun."